they pushed and pecked and
gobbled the little, wet lumps of the meal, and darted their shiny black
bills at the board.

The woman handed her the pan. "You can feed them if you want to," she
said.

The child took the basin, with shining eyes, and the woman moved away.
She examined the slatted box--where the mother hen ran to and fro, with
clucking wings--and gave her some fresh water and looked in the row
of nests along the side of the shed, and took out a handful of eggs,
carrying them in wide-spread, careful fingers.

The child, squatting by the board, was looking about her with happy
eyes. She'd almost forgotten the prisoned room up stairs and the long
lonesome days. The woman came over to her, smiling. "I've found seven,"
she said. The child's eyes rested on them. Then they flitted to
the sunshine outside.... A yellow butterfly was fluttering in the
light--across the opening of the shed. It lighted on a beam and opened
slow wings, and the child's eyes laughed softly... she moved tiptoe...
"I saw a _beautiful_ butterfly once!" she said. But the woman did not
hear. She had passed out of the shed--around the corner--and was looking
after the chickens outside--her voice clucking to them lightly. The
child moved toward the butterfly, absorbed in shining thought. "It was
a _beautiful_ butterfly--" she said softly, "in a Greek shop." The wings
of the butterfly rose and circled vaguely and passed behind her, and
she wheeled about, peering up into the dark shed. She saw the yellow
wings--up there--poise themselves, and wait a minute--and sail toward
the light outside.... But she did not turn to follow its flight--Across
the brown boards of the shed--behind a pile of lumber, against the wall
up there--a head had lifted itself and was looking at her. She caught
her breath--"I saw a butterfly once!" she repeated dully. It was half
a sob--The head laid a long, dark finger on its lip and sank from
sight.... The child wheeled toward the open light--the woman was coming
in, her hands filled with eggs. "I must carry these in," she said
briskly. She looked at the child. "You can stay and play a little
while--if you want to. But you must not go away, you know."

"I will not go away," said the child, breathless.

So the woman turned and left her--and the child's eyes followed her.

XXXII

AND A VOICE

"Can you hear me, little Miss Harris?" The voice came from the dusky
shed, high up against the wall.

But the child did